WeissKreuz LirumLarum
by LoveyouHateyou
Summary: Weiss fooling through a hot summer day...and evening. Aya possessive, Yohji lovestruck, Omi… well, is all smiles, and Ken watchful in his wake. And then there are Schwarz…


**WeissKreuz - Lirum-Larum…**

**Fandom:** WeissKreuz  
**Rating: M **for Aya being foulmouthed and references to male male intimacy (nothing explicity though).  
**Warnings: **Some silliness, some romance, sparks of humour (or so I hope).

**Summary:** Lirum, larum, Loeffelstiel, wer das kann, der kann nicht viel… oh dear. Weiss fooling through a hot summer day...and evening. Aya possessive, Yohji lovestruck, Omi… well, is all smiles, and Ken watchful in his wake. And then there are Schwarz… I've reposted this amended version in one chapter with sections; they are all linked by words, phrases, occasionally symbols. Spot them if you can... And well, yes, they will be OOC - no one is gay in the canon universe, now are they...

xxx

**1. Sugar ** **Plum**

Yohji sat, in his habitual state of morning-semi-undress, at the kitchen table, his flash new green shirt unbuttoned, his black briefs riding low enough to expose the dip between the beginning swell of his buttocks.

Ayatore his gaze away. Prim and neat in his orange sweater and a pair of black drawstrings because he had meant to go practising, he stood propped against the kitchen counter. Since entering the room, he had done nothing but stand there, watching Yohji. Who, apparently oblivious to Aya's predicament, was reading the morning paper over his breakfast that consisted of a mug of cooling black coffee and a smouldering cigarette.

Aya was thinking. It was a bit of an effort, given the circumstances, and he felt somewhat proud when he managed to not look at Yohji's bottom for a few moments. An achievement, at last. Damn Yohji and his urge to expose himself to all and sundry.

Aya crossed his arms as if that would help to keep his gaze from drifting. "Yohji."

Earning him a lovestruck glance from green eyes that peered over the rim of rimless reading glasses, along with a dreamy "Hmmm?"

Aya knew exactly what Yohji was thinking now. It made him both hot and cranky, and very nearly put him off asking… well, almost. He hugged himself firmer and bit out, "Why me?"

Something shifted beneath the apparent sleepiness of Yohji's expression… a very subtle shift, and Aya only knew because he knew the blond well… no, intimately enough… With a shiver, he wrapped his arms even tighter about himself and tried to stare Yohji into answering a bit quicker.

Rustling noisily, Yohji shook out a kink in the paper. Frowning lightly, he pushed out his lower lip. "Lemme think, now just why did I… ah, well, it was like – no one else around?"

Aya's fingers clawed into the acrylic of the jumper as his stare intensified into a glare. "Do NOT think again, Yotan, it must be hurting your pretty head."

"Ouch," came the soft rejoinder. Yohji dropped the paper and wrapped his long hands around the tepid mug. "That was a joke, Ayan," he explained patiently. "I love you 'cos you're you. See? Simple."

Aya blinked, hating the edge of confusion that just HAD to show on his face. He wondered, but could not quite figure out whether he was missing something… some detail that did not fit and irked him with its recalcitrant withdrawal… Impatiently, he began to tug at handfuls of sweater. "That's what you tell me, but-"

"Shush," said Yohji, getting up and joining him with a couple of swift, smooth steps. "It's the rough with the smooth, Ayan." A kiss to the tip of Aya's nose, a warm, engulfing embrace, Yohji's sultry scent swamping him, and really, there was only one way Aya's body knew to respond…

"But Yohji-" Aya managed, muffled against Yohji's shoulder before his face was pressed against the cotton of Yohji's shirt firmly enough to make him fight for breath.

"I said, shut it," Yohji replied kindly, his lips touching Aya's ear, "that's all there's to it…" – a soft nuzzling, before Yohji breathed, voice clicking with laughter – "my lil' sugar plum fairy."

Aya yanked away, Yohji caught him and stole the rant from his lips with a quick kiss, along with an irreverent tickle to his ribs. Aya gasped, sqirmed, torn between annoyance, arousal and laughing…

Yohji all but buried him in a hug.  
Aya relented at last when Yohji began to whisper silly sweet nothings into his ear.  
Succeeding, finally, in making Aya smile, if only a little, for the first time that morning.

xxx

Note:  
Lirum, larum… - a German children's rhyme, a tease – lirum, larum, handle of spoon, whoever can do this, can't do much. It does not translate properly, but it referes to useless skills, waste of time, and such like.

Plum – slang term for female and occasionally male private bits  
Fairy – slang term for gay man in a receptive role

xxx

**2. Braddy Daddy**

"The rough with the… nonsense," said Crawford, lounging on his bed amid a tangle of half-torn off clothes and messed up sheets, with Schuldig fidgeting by his side.

Crawford gave him an experimental shove. Schuldig clung tight. "Maybe, but I like it, Braddy Daddy," he groused, in full knowledge of how much Crawford hated this nickname. Crawford hated all nicknames, anyhow, but this one took the cake…

Instead of some outburst of glacial wrath, Crawford paused.

Uh-oh, thought Schuldig hazily.

Crawford frowned, thoughtfully staring at Schuldig's pale, rebellious face and his wild hair that flamed about his narrow features. Then, suddenly, he squarely met Schuldig's glittering gaze. "So who are you then? Boys," he dragged the word out for emphasis, "are not supposed to have scratchy five-o'clock shadows."

"I do 'cos I'm daddy's special lil' boy," growled Schuldig, glaring into Crawford's somewhat amused, mildly curious eyes. "And I didn't feel like shaving before getting up."

"So that's the rough bit then?"

Schuldig shrugged and slumped back into the dishevelled heap that had been their nest for the night.

Crawford, with an exasperated sigh, ruffled through Schuldig's blazing copper mane. "Kinky nut."

"C'mon, Brad," Schuldig yawned, one arm thrown over Crawford's chest and the other one hogging the pillow in which he buried his nose, "you like it."

And Crawford – seeing that Schuldig could not see him now – allowed himself a smile, if just a small one.

xxx

Note:  
Daddy and Boy are slang terms for a queer relationship involving an older and a usually much younger man.

xxx

**3. A Sign**

Yohji's smile was wiped off by Omi's categoric tone. "Take it down, Yotan."

"Huh?" Outside the entrance door to the shop, Yohji's gaze flicked down and homed in at the boy who was diligently watering the flower displays just inside the window.

"That sign," Omi hollered over the noise of the morning rushhour, "take it down.

"But why?" Yohji scrubbed the back of his hand over his brow – it was getting muggy already, the brief freshness of the early morning melting away into the oppressive heat of another stuffy summer day in the heaving city. He hooked one hand into the waistband of his smart and way too tight black jeans, fanned his belly with a corner of his green shirt, and looked up at the pink board he had just fixed above the door. "I don't see your pro-"

"Because," interrupted Ken, in all-blue soccer attire – trainers, shorts baring long muscular legs with a bronze glow, muscle shirt showing off his broad shoulders. He was hovering close to Omi. Pretending to prune the plants nearby allowed him to ogle Omi's backside and the expanse of smooth pale flesh between the boy's low-riding blue jeans and riding-high black tee.

"Because what?" grouched Yohji.

"Because you cannot advertise hits," replied Ken, getting impatient because he wanted Yohji gone.

"It's nothing to do with THAT," Yohji began his protest, already resigning himself to the knowledge it would be futile. Anyway...

Aya, sucking his finger behind the till where he had tried to arrange a bunch of rather thorny pink roses into a suitable birthday gift for a girl, rolled his eyes.

"I don't see your point," said Yohji, getting distracted and a tad stroppy. "We are a hit, now aren't we? Our flowers, I mean… look at the sales since we took up this trade… I wouldn't mind doing this for a living, really."

"Someone could make the connection," said Ken pointedly and unusually duplistic. He disliked the particular shade of pink of the sign. Too lurid, too stupidly obvious… never mind that it was aimed at their customers. It simply wasn't a boy's colour, even less so under their current, well, arrangements… there was no need to rub anything in. Right.

"Your friendly hitman next door," Omi cited, only slightly exaggerating what was brushed in neat black kana onto the pink board - _Hit of the day - purchase here, from the experts..._ "It's against the law, yanno, I mean all this zapping off of nasty folk at night. They could come and confiscate you, Yotan, and close down our shop;then we'd have no cover story and no one to pick on, and the whole thing flops." He illustrated his remark with an upheld, crooking and stretching finger and a little grin.

Yohji licked his lips and opened his mouth, but shut it when he met Aya's heated gaze. "Problem?" said Aya, his voice husky and low, just audible over the droning of the traffic. He seemed menacingly calm as he untied his apron and stepped out from behind the till, roses and ribbons forgotten, his hands sliding up his flanks and over his chest as if to brush off some invisible crumbs. Aya was wearing a very tight, deep purple tee. "Go on, Yotan. Take it down. NOW. You do NOT want to wait for it to flop, now do you?"

xxx

**4. Feet**

"Take them down," commanded Crawford, rubbing his temples in tight litte circles, "It's distracting; I cannot concentrate like this, and right now I need to think."

Schuldig wriggled his bare toes and adjusted his feet on Crawford's desk. "But-"

"Thinking hurts God," interjected Farfarello gently. He slouched on the windowsill behind Crawford and was playing a game of sudoku from a collection contained in a games pad he held on his knees. He was using a nice red, shiny, freshly sharpened pencil on which he occasionally sucked and chewed thoughtfully, as if trying to work out its flavour.

"Schuldig," growled Crawford, rubbing harder, a stern frown appearing between his brows.

Schuldig huffed and lowered his feet to the floor, caught a sliver of Farfarello's thoughts that were definitely not on the game any longer, and spluttered, "No, Far, NOT thinking hurts God a lot more, like Hell, sort of…"

"You would know," Nagi observed blandly from behind his laptop. He sat opposite Schuldig, at the narrow side of the desk to Crawford's right, safe with the desk between them.

"You!" Schuldig growled.

"Why would that be, Nagi?" Crawford asked interestedly. He was in the mood for a little payback.

"Because," Nagi flipped his computer shut, got up and edged towards the door, "he" - with a nod at Schuldig – "cannot understand shit right now."

"Huh?" said Schuldig, annoyedly and a tad dazed at Farfarello's intense golden stare that was homing in on him, along with a sweet, oddly hungry smile that softened those scarred white lips.

"Why then?" prodded Crawford, notwilling to let the opportunity go to waste.

"Because," Nagi stealthily pressed the doorhandle down and opened the door a crack, "last night, you screwed his messy little brain to mush."

"Why you lil' creep," yelled Schuldig, lunging after the boy and away from Farfarello, "I'll give you a piece of screwing so you know what you're talking about! C'mon, baby, come to daddy dear, lemme teach you a fuckin' lesson…"

Nagi yelped and ran, Schuldig gave chase, his chair toppling over with a clatter;the door banged open as he barged through after the boy who was already dashing down the hallway towards the relative safety of his basement room. Farfarello, robbed of his focus,looked bemused from his renewed contemplation of the sharp tip of the pencil to Crawford.

Who sagged back in his chair and rubbed at his temples as if he meant to punch holes into them. "My head hurts."

xxx

**5. Headache**

"Ay, my head hurts," groaned Yohji, cradling his head in his hands, elbows propped heavily on the kitchen table. "Why now? Why me? I feel sick… I wanna die… it wasn't that bad this morning…"

Omi set a mug of coffee before him, kissed the top of the tousled blond head that right now troubled Yohji so much, and then began to firmly massage Yohji's neck from his shoulders to the base of his skull and back. It was afternoon and very hot, so they both had stripped off their dank shirts as soon as their shift ended and they could retreat for their belated lunch.

"It's called a bloody hangover, Yohji-kun," Omi said sweetly, running his hands a bit further, down Yohji's arms, thus being able to abuse Yohji's lack of attention to mould very closely to Yohji's bare back in a stealthy fashion.

Yohji's head snapped up, he winced at the bright blast of agony this caused. His eyes were bleary, but beyond the mist of pain, he wore a look of consternation. "Omi-TCHI! You're not old enough to swear like that, for chrissake… oh, gods, my poor head…" Letting said head thud onto the table in utter misery.

Aya snuck in and to the stove to pour himself and Ken some cold tea. He spared Yohji a glance and smirked, and for once, Omi shared his grin. "Fresh air, Yotan," the boy said, gently ruffling Yohji's sweaty hair. "That's what you need now."

xxx

**6. Beach Boy**

"Fresh air," Yohji grumbled sorely, "and where the hell would I find that without driving for hours to get out of the damn city …"

Schuldig petted Yohji's head. "Told you, didn't I – don't mix drinks like that, and don't get sloshed so much."

Trying not to move, Yohji hissed quietly instead of batting him off, and Schuldig showed a teethy smile, but withdrew his hand. They were sitting on their favourite beach, a long drive from the city indeed, well away from the teeming, stifling heat that even now, close to dusk, showed no sign of abating. There was not another soul in sight, and the distant rushing past of cars on the motorway and the breathing of the sea under a gentle breeze were only occasionally pierced by the shriek of some seagulls.

"Trust me, honey," said Schuldig, "I'm having friggin' headaches all the time, I'm an expert on them, and I know all about migraines."

"This isn't one. This is the result of fucking with vodka and beer plus the stuff you gave me to smoke," Yohji accused mournfully.

Lounging on the soft, damp sand, Schuldig wriggled his toes in the crumbly wetness just where the sea lapped at them in soft swathes of salty foam. It left bubbly ribbons on the dark sand that blistered and bubbled away as swiftly as new ones appeared, and their crumbly footprints along the beach had long since been washed away.

Schuldig ran his hand up Yohji's thigh. "I can cure you, yanno."

"Oh, gawddam-" Yohji was cut off by a hot snarling kiss before he managed to push Schuldig off. Schuldig landed on his back in the sand, his copper mane fanning out in loops and tangles about his narrow face, and he laughed as he sprawled out, offering himself to the sea and the wind and the softly drifting veils of sand.

xxx

**7. Play Boy**

Fountains of sand and salt-spray burst over Nagi's computer screen – wearing teddy-bear patterned light blue pyjamas, he was lazing on his bed and firmly focused on hitting buttons and controls on the keyboard in lightningfast succession.

Farfarello, wrapped into his straightjacket for snugness and against the temptation of inappropriately using his sudoku pencil, crouched comfortably on the threshold of the boy's room. He kept a watchful golden eye on the screen too, and now and then, he would call out softly to warn Nagi of a new virtual enemy.

"Yay!" Nagi shouted, throwing up a small fist in triumph as a large explosion bloomed and blotted out the rest of the screen for a few moments.

"Jei," said Farfarello with a small grin.

Nagi settled back to continue his game. "Covering my back, Far?" he said,flitting a quick glance over the screen, with something very close to a smile on his thin lips.

Farfarello inclined his whitehaired head and returned the smile softly. "Always, boy, always."

xxx

Note:  
Jei – supposed to be Farfarello's real name. Not sure whether that's canon or fandom.  
white hair – in Japanese (and Chinese) folk tradition, white hair signifies ghosts or spirits, often unpleasant or downright evil ones, or at least with sinister intent; white is the traditional colour of death and mourning.

xxx

**8. Lost**

"Always. It's always the same, isn't it? Look, I'll put it really simply for you – why don't you fucking tell me where they are?" Aya ranted into the phone he pressed with earth-stained fingers to his ear while his free hand rang up the cash register to sum up the day's takings. The shop lay dark and silent. Aya wedged the receiver between jaw and shoulder so he could take out the wads of paper money to swiftly count and bundle them. "Hm? No, I do not. YOU are the bloody oracle, now aren't you? So get your brain into gear, Crawford, or I'll come over and help you think. What?"

Aya froze, clutching at the money in his hands as a livid crimson hue flooded his face and neck, and then he stuffed the cash back into the register, slammed it shut and the receiver down, and tore off his apron. He bent to yank the katana from the shelf under the counter and stormed out through the backdoor, past a round-eyed, open-mouthed Ken who just stepped from the kitchen into the hall.

"Hey," Ken yelled when Aya ran right into the evening traffic to cross the busy street, causing a bout of screeching tyres and frantic honks. "Hey, dinner's ready! You're idiots, you two, d'you know that? Ah, stuff it - why the HELL do we bother?"

xxx

**9. Not Found Yet**

"He isn't in," Nagi said flatly, peering through the gap of the chained door that he could not pull shut because Aya had wedged his booted foot between door and threshold. Nagi clutched a teddy to his narrow chest. The teddy wore sunshades and a handgun whose silencer-muzzle pointed at Aya and looked frighteningly real with Nagi's thin finger on the trigger.

Aya gave the door a hard punch with the fist that did not hold the blank katana. "Don't give me this shit," he said, sounding oddly peacable though a tad strained. "Tell him I'll cure his migraine as soon as he gets his ass over here."

"Cutting someone's head off isn't a great remedy," stated Nagi, a strange flicker of amusement in his toneless voice. "A bit like throwing out the kid with the bathwater, or something like that. I don't think he'd appreciate the effort."

"I'll convince him." Aya promised, bringing his sword and his face closer to the gap, his eyes narrow and chill. "Where is Balinese? If you hand him back now, I'll just go."

The nail of Nagi's trigger finger whitened. "I haven't got him. Come back another day."

"What IS it?" yelled Schuldig from somewhere inside. "Tell him to get packing, we don't buy anything… some salesfolk… ahhhh… bloody shameless, really…"

"It's Abyssinian," said Nagi, without raising his voice or shifting his unblinking gaze from Aya. "He wants his dolly back."

"Ohhh…dammit, Brad… Bali's gone clubbing for all I know… no, Brad – hey, Brad!"

A tiny quirk twitched one corner of Nagi's mouth. "See?" The teddy waved the gun a little. "Now go away. Better for you, believe me."

And suddenly Aya felt a forceful shove right against the middle of his chest; he was nudged back and the door fell shut with a bang and a rattle of chain and lock.

xxx

**10. Doll Fun**

Aya, stinking of smoke and perfume that was not his own after having spent half a night trailing the various clubs he knew Yohji might frequent, burst into Yohji's room from where a lazy pop tune drifted through the dark house. Yohji, naked save for a pair of black briefs, shone with sweat in the yellow light of his reading lamp. He knelt on the floor, his hair sticking in sodden ringlets to his temples and neck, his face buried between folds of plastic. His chest was heaving, his cheeks bulging rhythmically.

"Yohji, you goddamn idiot! What were you… what is this?" Aya, postponing his barrage, pointed his sword at the inflating heap of vinyl on the grubby brown floorboards.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Yohji yapped, "it's a doll. Where've you been all night?" He latched on to the nozzle again while Aya hovered by the door, just inside the threshold, in an undecisive flight-or-fight stance.

"Out." Aya stared. "I was… it's a fuck-doll," he corrected, a mix of intrigue and disgust in his tone.

"Ah, and what?" Yohji wheezed, shrugging nonchalantly. "Went shopping and found this baby…" He patted what would become the doll's backside, then he flipped the thing over.

Aya bit his lip and clutched his sword to his chest.

Yohji laughed, bright green eyes glittering a challenge at Aya. "HE was a bargain. And much cheaper maintenance than some people I know."

Aya, dizzy and with his knees going soft – only because he was exhausted from running around fruitlessly for hours, of course – leaned against the doorjamb. "You… Yohji, you're not going to… are you?"

"You can watch if you like." Yohji, trying to recover his breath, gave Aya a saucy wink, and Aya blushed angrily.

"Do you HAVE to play me like that?" he snapped bluntly. "Well, whatever, you'll see where it gets you. He'll wear you out and then he'll pop it. Or perhaps he just deflates. You're too damn demanding, you know." And with this snotty prediction, he turned on his heel and swooped out to take a long, soapy shower, not necessarily to relax.

Yohji gave up to calm his breathing and decided to have a cigarette instead. Aya was in a mood, he could tell... it might become an interesting night yet.

xxx

**11. Food Fun**

"Lirum, larum, Loeffelstiel," Schuldig, in nothing but jeans, sang the silly rhyme out heartily as he plopped onto his chair opposite Crawford at their kitchen table. "At least THIS isn't gonna wear out." He wiggled a long, thick, green cucumber in front of Crawford's dinner plate.

Crawford, neat in glasses, an ironed white shirt, and charcoal slacks, calmly proceeded to eat his ramen. Schuldig felt unfairly slighted. "Brad?"

"I've Seen an utterly avoidable mishap," Crawford said dryly, "involving a cucumber and the hospital emergency register, and you. On your hands and knees."

Nagi, up for a late snack after his gaming had been rudely interrupted by Aya's rather irritating appearance, groaned and ground his fists against his ears. Farfarello edged closer. He was out of his jacket and in plain grey pyjamas – one never knew, Crawford had mumbled, it might be better, given the circumstances, if Schwarz were prepared and in full fighting strength.

Softly, Farfarello patted the boy's back.

Nagi squealed, flailing his arms. "Get off me! You're all perverts!"

Farfarello smirked a little, Schuldig groused. "YOU downloaded this stuff – it wasn'tmy idea!"

"And what the hell areyou doing snooping around MY laptop?" yelled Nagi, jumped up, grabbed his noodle bowl,and stomped out of the kitchen.

Crawford bit his lip. "Interesting," he commented and slurped another mouthful of noodles. "Schuldig, perhaps you'd care to explain, after dinner."

xxx

**12. Good Fun**

In Omi's room, on his futon, he and Ken lay on their bellies, the blanket over their heads as a tent, in an attempt to shield them should one of the two others happen to call, while still allowing them to hear the grunting and thumping sounds that came from Yohji's room across the corridor.

"Hot," whispered Omi heatedly, his eyes shimmering eagerly in the blueish sheen of the computer screen.

Ken rested his chin on Omi's shoulder and languidly stroked Omi's bare backside. "Yeah," he murmured, "you are."

Omi half-turned and was wrapped in Ken's rather forceful embrace.

"They're having a threesome next door," Omi grunted, then squirmed and laughed because Ken caught his wrists and pressed them up over his head so he could tickle Omi's armpits with his tongue.

"Yeah, and tomorrow they're out on deliveries. In the van. Together." They shared a snicker. Then Ken nodded vaguely in the direction of the sounds. "They'd never guess if we'd borrow that thing," he said fuzzily, shoving the computer out of the way with his elbow.

"Did you see this website," whispered Omi, writhing against Ken.

"Which one?" mumbled Ken, busy trying to slip out of his nightclothes – white tee and blue boxers – without letting go of Omi.

"The one with the cucumber…"

Ken groaned. "Do you know what happens if it breaks? The veg, I mean. While it's stuck up your… yanno. I prefer…lemme see, THIS." Releasing one of Omi's hands, heplaced itwhere he wanted it most. Omi laughed as Ken tried to adjust the slipping blanket to cover them again, and then the bleep of incoming mail disturbed them. Ken swore under his breath as Omi thrust back their cover and leaned out of their nest to see…

On the screen bloomed the image of a purple cucumber, and a rather accusing, plaintive message in fat red kana. _You were wrong! This encryption is NOT safe!_

Ken frowned. "What does this mean?" he demanded, mistrust lacing his tone.

Omi blushed and swore softly even as he reached out to click the offending message away.

Ken propped himself up on one arm and glared down at him. "Omitchi?"

Omi writhed deeper into the mattress and angled his arms over his glowing face. "It's nothing, really."

"Doesn't look that way from where I am."

Omi sighed regretfully. "Well, believe it or not, it all started with some candied fruit, involves fraternising with the enemy for surveillance purposes and, uhm, professional development that lasted no longer than a day, and the whole lot runs like some weird fairytale…"

"I'm listening," said Ken, tucking Omi in with his free hand - whether to warm him or keep him trapped in a blanket cocoon, Omi could not tell. Right then, he thought it better not to ask – the mood was spoiled, Yohji and Aya had calmed down for the moment, and Ken would doggedly keep revisiting the topic now until he had an answer. So Omi began to talk, and Ken listened, and later they made their peace and picked up where they had left when the computer interrupted them.

Ithad beenan interesting night indeed, they concluded when they snuggled down to sleep at last, with the first pale light of the morning shimmering through the bamboo blinds. And Nagi, in his bed with the laptop on his tummy, listened to their mumbled good-nights, a sleepy smile on his face. There were advantages to being a hacker, and he liked this cucumber virus he had written…

One up on you, Bombay, he thought, drifting off contently, let's see how you counter THIS one…

xxx

The End


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